To Die, To Sleep, Perchance to Dream
by Vria
Summary: Sarah and Jareth, two that were never allowed to love. But who is to blame? It is one thousand and fivehundred years later and only Jareth can save Sarah. But how, when he thinks she's dead? For no mortal can live for over fifteen hundred years...


Summary: Sarah had always dreamed of a fairy-tale ending, complete with white horse and her knight and shining armor. However, her dreams fell to ruin when the Labyrinth entered her life. One thousand years later, Sarah is still regretting the day that she made a deal with the Labyrinth, and left everyone and everything behind she ever knew. Sadly, she can remember none of that, and only one can help her. One that simply thought she had died. One that doesn't know she still exists. This is the story of the forgotten. Of the enchantress, Sarah Williams.

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Disclaimer: I own none of the characters that you recognize. Everyone else belongs to me.

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Prologue - To die, to sleep...perchance...to dream?

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It was vast and timeless. It spread out across a once barren land, cradled by the ground and earth as a mother cradles a child to her bosom. It's winding stone pathways and towering hedge walls twisted and moved endlessly; a dance older than time. An endless waltz that it never tired of, enchanted by the steps as it was on the very first day it had learned them. What once had been a castle of squalor and filth now towered high, white and gleaming amidst a pristine city. Those within only enchanted into a cursed state when someone from above wished away an unwanted spawn. Flesh of their flesh...how fickle mortals were. The city bustled happily, and the Labyrinth writhed and twisted with wild beauty. It's cursed form nowhere to be seen, its true form gleaming for all to see. The entity that was the Labyrinth sighed and groaned with the dreams of those that had come before, and the dreams of one mere, mortal sacrifice. 

But those who walked the gleaming stone and marble pathways did not know that their freedom from a curse, or their precious city had come at a dear price. A hefty price. No, not even their King knew, such was the way of the Labyrinth. The King to put it simply, was a quiet man. A recluse by nature, but terrible in his anger should anyone rouse it. He kept to his castle, running his kingdom quietly, distancing himself. For a thousand years the kingdom ran peacefully, kept that way by a quiet ruler. Quiet, but by no means kind. Not to those that knew him well. Yes, the kingdom was thriving.

Far in the north, at the very edges of the Labyrinth lay a forest. A forest that had sparked many a bard's tale, and many a legend. From within the grey and darkened trees and glades, the pristine white animals were usually the only ones that could hear or feel the sorrow of the single immortal inhabitant within. For five hundred years she had slept, in a sweet dream that a beatiful entity had placed upon her, in exchange for her deepest and most pure dreams. However, when the dreams no longer became necessary and the land thrived on its own, the lovely girl was allowed to wake, and condemned to misery without remembering why she was there. So, the forest rang with cries and grief, and those that dared to pass through the forest on the way to the lands of the north, felt her misery as if it was their own. Often they brought back tales with them of a young girl with porcelain skin, dressed in white and grey, drifting through the forest like a dream and crying out for help. Many said she was bound to the forest until she could recall all of who she was; until she regained her dreams. Some said she was a prisoner, bound by fate. Others called her the enchantress, for many were so enchanted by her beauty that they could not stay the image from their minds.

And so, the forest became known as the Forest of Deepest Sorrows, and the girl whose name was unknown or forgotten was dubbed the Enchantress, and for five hundred years more the Enchantress marched out her days in sadness, crying, singing, speaking to the animals, with only the moon and the wind for her friends. Until one day, something in the winds changed in the form of a young messenger sent to the King. The scroll that he bore was an important one, and as the yellow parchment was given from tiny hands to leather-clad ones, a story began to unfold. It was a yearly request sent to the King that he attend the High King's annual Ball. Usually, the King of the once-Goblins and now merely the King of the Labyrinth declined, but something told him that for once, he should swallow his pride and go. After all, his mother and father were probably getting tired of his refusals...

So that was how the story began...or how it begins at any rate...the story of the King and His Enchantress.

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Author's Note: Okay, so I don't know if this story will be worth anything, but please, please, please review and let me know if you want me to actually continue writing this. No, all the chapter's won't be written like this. They'll actually be written with true dialogue and a plot, but please let me know it this story is worth continuing. Nicely please, after all, I didn't write this to offend you. 


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